


Decision Matrix

by thingswithwings



Category: Travelers (TV)
Genre: Gen, Getting a Pet, Turtles, discussion of fucked up post-apocalyptic childhood recovery, discussion of substance abuse recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-30
Updated: 2018-07-30
Packaged: 2019-06-18 18:18:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15491832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thingswithwings/pseuds/thingswithwings
Summary: For the prompt Melagan gave me: "how Philip chose his turtle." I enjoyed getting into Philip's head on this one.





	Decision Matrix

**Author's Note:**

  * For [melagan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/melagan/gifts).



> I was having trouble getting back into writing, so I threw open prompts at my DW journal and wrote fast and hard. These fics are all quick and unbetaed, with very little research done, as I was just trying to get some practice in and get back in the writing mode. Apologies for any continuity errors etc. Thanks to everyone who prompted and encouraged me! And apologies to subscribers, who are now getting spammed as I repost them to AO3. 
> 
> Original prompt post here: https://thingswithwings.dreamwidth.org/226811.html

The concept of having _personal choices_ is something that Philip understands at an intellectual level; he could cite various contemporary (and future) philosophical discussions on the topic, describe the consumer and corporate forces at work with historical precision, and list in detail the personal choices that his previous host made in this very body. 

But when you've spent your life since infancy in one of the Director's historian training enclaves, when you've eaten from the same yeast vat every day, when your decisions about what to wear have been "the same rags as yesterday" or else "nothing," it's a difficult concept to really get used to.

Trevor helps, sometimes, bringing him different foods to eat or movies to watch. But when Trevor isn't there, when Philip is alone for long days at a time at HQ, some of them can seem overwhelming. He thinks of the concept of a decision matrix, from his training: weighing the values of different criteria against each other to make the most logical choice. But when the outcomes can't be predicted—when the relevance of the choice to the mission can't be predicted—what use is such an exercise?

Ray's suggestion to get a pet is an intriguing one; when he offers it, Philip's mind does a quick spiral through different pet-related facts, events involving pets with historical significance, the winning racing greyhounds who sometimes got—get—will get—to retire to pethood. He focuses again, looking Ray in the eye.

"I don't think I'm . . . ready for a dog," he says, slowly. Ray laughs.

"Yeah, kid, definitely not."

The pet store is huge, another set of overwhelming choices. Choices are how history happens, Philip knows; a person decides to cross against traffic, or stop to buy an ice cream cone, or read a poem, and the fine filaments of probability shift around them. That's their work, and Philip's work especially: to manipulate those fine choices to craft a better future. The knowledge he has gives them powerful data for a decision matrix: they know how much each choice matters, how it will affect the future.

But he can't know—he has no data—on whether the choice he makes here today will make a difference to the future. It could. But also, it might not. It's dizzying to think about. There are historians in the future who might be receiving a briefing on the choice he's making here today. 

"Whaddya like?" Ray asks. "I was thinking, like. A hamster. Rats can be nice pets. Or a fish?"

Philip wanders over to the reptile section, drawn by the cool blue and green light. There are colorful snakes curled on heat rocks, big lizards stomping majestically, little lizards flitting around and tasting the air. 

He stops by the turtles. "What about these?" he asks. Ray shrugs. Ray does that a lot, as if shrugging off the significance of any decision, any statement. As if life could be lived without worry about consequences.

"Yeah, you could get a turtle. Probably the right level of maintenance for you."

A turtle instead of a snake, a snake instead of a rat, a rat instead of a hamster. No data on which choice would lead to a better future. Except, of course, Protocol One: he doubts that the Director would approve of this kind of irrelevant activity. Protocol One states that the large-scale decision matrix has determined that the kind of thing he's doing now is statistically not beneficial to their work.

Perhaps, though, it could be counted as Protocol Four. Ray had said that a pet would help maintain his health. 

Philip makes a personal choice, inspired by Ray's shrug: he's getting a pet, regardless of whether it's the right thing to do.

He makes another: he wants a turtle. He probes the decision, wondering why he made it. Because turtles are slow, like he is, stuck in time as it plays out around him? Because they're tough and resilient? Philip stares into their wrinkled faces and thinks that maybe he just likes them. _Preference_ , another concept he's still getting used to. Preference without weighing the variables, preference as a kind of ahistorical, contextless, unexamined feeling. Something you just _have_.

"How do you do it?" he asks Ray. 

"Do what?"

"Make choices," Philip breathes, bringing his face closer to the glass. One of the turtles is looking back at him. He wonders if it's conscious of the potential consequences of its decision to do so.

"Yeah, I think a lot of people in recovery find that hard." Ray pats him awkwardly on the shoulder. "We use so we don't have to make any choices. Getting them back can be weird. I think you just follow your feelings, go with your gut. And, uh, make choices that'll benefit you and your recovery."

It sounds a little canned, like something Ray might've heard from a sponsor, but it's good advice nonetheless. 

Philip looks at the turtle; the turtle looks back at him. "I want this one," he says, "with the little orange stripe on its shell."

It's a small decision, but it feels good—even the unknown future consequences of the choice feel good, like a field of potential that Philip doesn't have to understand or control or predict. His turtle can have free will.

There's a store employee hovering nearby who helps them get the turtle - it's a girl turtle, apparently, though Philip doesn't see how that has much bearing on her future life - out of the case, and pick out all the stuff he'll need to make her comfortable. There are lots more decisions there: what kinds of things to put in her terrarium, what kind of food to feed her, all the little meaningless details that are meaningful to Philip, and meaningful to his turtle.

"Have you thought of a name?" the clerk asks, handing him a receipt.

"No," Philip says. "But I will."


End file.
